The West Hills, Twenty-four Years Ago
It was a small house, modest but well-made, with neatly painted shutters and a little garden of healing herbs by the front gate. As Cid knocked at the door, Redden admired the place, tucked among the green slopes of the West Hills like an egg in a nest, a typical white mage residence for an atypical white mage, disgraced and dismissed by the cathedral some years before. The fact that she was the only one left who had a chance of completing the ritual must have grated on Father Ladimer.
Cid knocked again, impatiently trying the knob - locked - but by then Redden had noticed the weeds peeking out from behind the musk mallow, noted the cobwebs clinging to the broom handle that leaned beside the door. "She's not at home," he said. "Hasn't been for some time, from the looks of things."
"Of course she's not," Cid growled. "I mean, why would she be? It's not as if we've been most of a day getting to this gods-blighted place!" He hit the door once more with the flat of his hand then turned to his brother. "What do you want to do now?"
Redden sighed. "It doesn't matter what I want. There's only one other place she could be, and we need her." He'd known, hadn't he? The moment he'd heard that the last qualified white mage was in the West Hills, Redden had known it would end like this, with him and his brother returning to their father's house, the home of the man who had given them away.
Cormorant Hall brooded on the edge of a cliff facing the sea, like a sailor's wife waiting for a ship to come in. There were no ships here; the stones that made up the West Hills extended into the water for miles and miles, stone daggers sharpened by rough waves that would tear a ship to pieces before it ever got within sight of land. When they rounded the last hill that blocked their view of the lonely house, Cid said, "How long has it been?"
"Nine years," Redden replied, though he knew full well that Cid knew that.
Someone must have spotted them. A handful of soldiers emerged from the Hall and came their way, indistinct at this distance but for their red and white uniforms, the Carmine family colors.
"Right," Cid said, stepping forward to meet their escort. "Let's get this done."
"A moment," Redden said. His calves were burning. He stopped on the path, catching his breath, watching the seabirds that gave the house its name wheel and dive into the choppy waters below.
"You're not tired, are you?" Cid asked, as fresh as if they hadn't walked a full day already.
Redden shook his head. "I'm just not used to these hills anymore."
Cid clucked his tongue. "That's awkward, considering you'll rule them someday."
Redden didn't respond.
Minutes later, the guards arrived. They were all of them young, their leader a fresh-faced youth of perhaps fifteen. The bright crimson of his uniform went poorly with the brassy red of his short hair. He bowed, smiling broadly. "Good afternoon, m'lords. I'm to escort you to your father. This way, please."
Redden waited for Cid to make the first move. His brother stood, regarding the boy a moment before motioning to the boy's hair. "Are you one of his?" he asked, his voice emotionless.
"Cid!" Redden hissed.
Cid rolled his eyes. "It's a simple enough question. You can't expect me to remember all of his bastards after all these years."
The boy blushed, another clashing shade of red. "Couldn't say, m'lord."
He probably wasn't, Redden knew. Red hair was not uncommon among the Hill folk; the boy could have come by it honestly. But Cid was right: it was impossible to keep track of Lord Carmine's bastards. Their father tried to do well by them, those he knew about, finding them apprenticeships and positions in other houses, but he rarely kept them. If this boy was one, it was unlikely Lord Carmine would have kept him so close.
It wouldn't stop Cid from regarding the boy jealously. Cid seemed to view each of their half-siblings as an affront, a sign that he wasn't enough. Redden, on the other hand, had trouble thinking of the bastards as his siblings at all. They were strangers to him. Redden sometimes felt sorry for them, these servants and tradesmen he didn't know; the accident of birth that made him a twin was the only thing that separated his status from theirs.
"Ignore him," Redden said, waving the boy forward. "Lead the way."
They saw no one else on the steep path, no one around the house. No other guards hailed them, no servants came out to meet them. When they reached the wide front door, the young guard opened it and waved them through without so much as knocking. The rest of their escort fell back as Redden and Cid stepped inside.
Lord Gaian Carmine stood halfway up the stairs, coming down, an irritating smirk on his face. His clothes were rumpled as though he'd slept in them. He was slim, built more like Redden than Cid, so much less imposing than Redden remembered. He still looked young, despite the stark white hair he kept cut close to his scalp. "My boys!" he said, oozing charm. "What a pleasant surprise!"
"It should hardly be a surprise. Father Ladimer said he wrote you six letters," Redden spat, forgetting, at the sight of that smirk, his promise to himself to hold his temper. Cid gripped his arm warningly, but Redden couldn't make his tone respectful. "You haven't deigned to answer one of them."
Lord Carmine chuckled. "Yes, and look what it's got me! You're finally home for a visit!"
"This isn't our home," Redden growled. "You saw to that."
"Leave it," Cid whispered, pulling Redden back a step. He had never understood Redden's anger toward their father for sending them away. Naturally, the sons of Titan had to be raised among the high families. That had been Lord Carmine's line back then, and Cid had bought it. Even if Redden struggled with his faith in the prophecy, Cid still believed. To Lord Carmine, he said, "We're only here for the white mage."
"Yes, I read the letters," Lord Carmine said, leaning casually on the banister as he looked down at them. "Though I fail to see why you had to come all the way out here for one. Not that I don't love having you, but it seems to me you've a whole cathedral of them to choose from in town."
"If you've read the letters, you know why," Redden said. "Only a descendant of the founders can work the spell."
Lord Carmine scoffed. "The rumors out of Melmond say you've killed the others, the last one little more than an apprentice. I've a duty to protect my subjects, you understand. Why should I let her go?"
A woman's voice drifted down the stairs. "Probably because it isn't your choice."
Redden saw his father stiffen. "I thought I told you to wait in your room."
"So you did," said the woman, descending. "But Sarda said I should come down." She stopped on the step above Lord Carmine, towering over him. She was tall, taller than he was, and willow-thin, though she looked only a few years older than Redden. Her black hair hung loose to the cinched waist of her red dress.
"This is none of your concern," Lord Carmine said.
"Sarda says otherwise."
She took another step, but Lord Carmine grabbed her elbow. "I'll not be gainsaid in my own house by some rambling madman!"
She looked down at the hand that held her arm, dark eyes fierce, and when she turned that same expression onto Lord Carmine, he let her go. "That 'madman' is my brother, sir. And we are your guests."
More than that, Redden thought as she came down the stairs to stand in front of him and Cid, to look them over with those hard, angry eyes that were unlike the eyes of any other white mage Redden had ever known. It was only one of the many reasons the cathedral had sent her away.
She focused her gaze on Redden. "Scarlet Carmine. But I assume you knew that."
"Yes," said Redden.
She smiled, but it was a hollow smile, almost cruel, with no joy in it at all - their father's smile. "Well, shall I call you 'brother'?"
Redden scowled. "I would prefer you didn't."
Melmond, Present Day
In the late afternoon, Jack walked with Lena through the west gate toward the manor, their two guards trailing behind them. They'd had a full day together. After tea, they'd dropped in on Seward, who was delighted to see them but was on his way to other appointments. The portly lord had sent them to the harbor with a hastily penned letter of introduction to Lord Hanlin, one of the harbor masters. Hanlin's ships had sailed far before the seas became unstable, and his men had a habit of bringing him souvenirs of a most unusual nature: a bug collection that filled his home and that he was more than happy to share with visitors.
"I had no idea there were so many butterflies in the world," Lena said as they walked. "Seeing them all laid out in those cases! The colors!"
Jack nodded. "The butterflies were impressive." He felt so… so normal, so ordinary, without the aether pounding at him. A normal man walking down the road with his lady. He could almost pretend he was, could almost relax into the joyful simplicity of it, if not for the fact that they were both mages in a city hostile to mages, or for the lingering threat of the Brotherhood and the possibility of a dark mage spy in Leiden's household. He didn't know if Lena had been told about that. He'd thought to warn her, but the guards hadn't been out of earshot once that whole day, and he couldn't bring himself to whisper such a thing in her ear, not when she seemed to be having such a good time. She held to Jack's arm, smiling and laughing as she talked. Jack couldn't stop looking at her, furtive glances - at least, he hoped they weren't too obvious. He had missed her. Gods, he had missed her. Had she missed him?
He couldn't be sure. Throughout the day, she had spent as much time chatting with the men who accompanied them as she had with him. While he'd been hiding in his room these past few days, she'd been slowly winning over their guards: greeting them whenever she saw them, remembering their names, inquiring after their families. They were practically friends now. She cheerfully looked over her shoulder at the pair who followed them. "What did you like best, Corporal?"
The bulky Corporal Clyne rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, seeming embarrassed to be addressed. "Don't know, miss. All of it together, I suppose."
"Shows commitment," their other guard said, the daydreamer. "That Hanlin knows what he likes."
Lena nodded. "The whole collection was amazing! Wasps and grasshoppers and cicadas! Hanlin could open a museum! How about you, Hector? What did you like?"
"Me? Well… I suppose… I liked the display with the bugs that looked like other things, leaves and sticks and flowers."
"My goodness, yes!" Lena said, giggling. "That stick insect was as big as my arm! It makes you wonder what else could be out there! It could be right in front of us, and we've no idea!"
A laugh rose in Jack's throat but he choked it down, picturing himself as a dark mage stick insect hiding in plain sight.
Lena turned her smile back to him. "Was that funny?"
"Yes," he said.
She raised an eyebrow at him, still smiling, and the way she rubbed his arm with her hand as they walked made him weak in the knees. "What was your favorite part?"
"Other than your company?" he asked, pleased to hear her laugh. He thought for a moment. "I rather liked that beetle."
"The shiny one? The one with the horn?"
"Yes."
She giggled. "It was certainly unusual. What did you like about it?"
He shrugged. "Butterflies are supposed to be beautiful. But a beetle? No one expects beauty from them, and yet it rivaled any emerald I've ever seen." Like your eyes, he thought, though he didn't dare say that out loud.
They parted when they reached the house, each of them off to dress for dinner, with Lena heading toward Ruby's quarters. Miss Leiden seemed to delight in choosing Lena's clothes, like dressing a doll. Jack went to his own room to change, though he didn't see how it mattered what he wore when he was sure everyone would be looking at his face. As much as he would have preferred to eat alone in his room again, he couldn't avoid the Leidens forever.
Or perhaps he could have? Apart from a warm welcome from Kane and a smile from Lena, no one else seemed to care when he took a seat between his two friends. Orin and Thad were out, Kane said. Redden sat across the table, beside Leiden, but didn't acknowledge Jack when he arrived. The Leidens, meanwhile, seemed deep in a discussion amongst themselves, despite how they sat at opposite ends of the long table with their guests along either side.
It was the first night circumstances had allowed Jack to have dinner with the Leidens. He'd joined them for breakfast twice before his self-imposed isolation and thought he had an idea of what the family was like when they were at home, but he'd been wrong.
Leiden himself was different. While Jack had seen the man conduct business over the morning meal, it seemed he did not do so over dinner. He talked more, conversing with his children, seeming to take a genuine interest in their lives. Jack listened, pleased that he was largely ignored as he ate.
"No, I'm sure of this one," Leiden said to Ruby. "He's from the Reach originally, displaced by the Rot. But he came with a letter of reference from Lord Quincey himself."
Ruby looked dubious. "I doubt that Lord Quincey knows the first thing about gardening - no offense, Gabriel."
"None taken," said the sergeant, who had been suspiciously quiet up to that moment, lifting his fork in a steady rhythm as though he were in a hurry to finish his plate.
"But," she went on, "I'll at least meet with the man."
Leiden smirked. "Good. I'll have Gilbert arrange it." He tucked into his meal, but he watched Sergeant Quincey as he ate. Eventually, he said, "I heard of a room for rent near Talbot's house."
The sergeant stopped, fork halfway to his mouth. "On Main?"
Leiden nodded. "It would be closer to the guard house than here. I can write you a reference."
"Thank you, my lord," Quincey said, resuming his meal.
There was a moment of tense silence. Jack glanced between Leiden and the sergeant. They'd been fighting. That seemed clear enough. But while Quincey had adopted a stony expression, staring down at his food, Leiden seemed almost sad.
"I don't see why you'd need your own place!" said Harvey, oblivious to the tension. "And on a guardsman's salary? If you insist on ceding the townhouse to Logan, why can't you just stay with us?"
"Harvey," said Leiden, shaking his head. To Quincey, he said, "Of course, you can stay here as long as you like, Gabriel. You know we're used to you."
Quincey didn't even look up from his plate. "I wouldn't want to impose on your generosity, my lord." He polished off the last green bean, set his fork down, wiped his face with his napkin. "If you'll excuse me," he said, standing and leaving without waiting for Leiden's permission.
The others soon finished their own meals and likewise excused themselves. Kane and Harvey left together, apparently to hunt down the sergeant. Redden left with Lord Leiden, Leiden speaking quietly about a meeting the next day that he expected Redden to attend. Jack ended up in the parlor with Lena and Ruby. The girls sat at a small table near the door with a well-worn card deck, playing Over Onion Knight, which was apparently considered polite enough for high society provided no gambling took place. The girls invited him to join them, but Jack didn't know how to play and was too embarrassed to admit his ignorance, particularly with Corporal Clyne hovering nearby taking a keen interest in the game.
Jack sat in one of the plush chairs in the corner and concentrated on the book of high Leifenish grammar Seward had lent him. Along with an extra lamp, a ledger and inkwell rested on a side table close at hand, but he was done with them now - he'd already copied the conjugation charts, noting their differences from standard Leifenish, and he likely wouldn't look at them again. It was the act of writing the information out that helped it stick in his memory. Now he studied the book, reviewing the same sections he'd already read over and over.
As the evening wore on, he was vaguely aware of Lena's laughter, but he kept his mind on his work, subconsciously thinking of that other book, the one he'd taken from Astos, that may hold the key to his understanding of dark magic at last if only he could read it. As much as he had enjoyed his day with Lena, he knew the price he'd paid for it - giving in to his dark magic, drawing off of Orin - would break him if he paid it too often. The guilt that gnawed at his belly assured him of that.
He hadn't noticed Lena's approach until her hand was on his shoulder. "Jack?" Her smile as she looked down at him was amused. "I hope I didn't startle you. I was just saying how late it was, but you didn't seem to hear me."
"I'm sorry, my lady," he said, looking about the now-shadowed parlor. Most of the lamps had been turned down or extinguished. Ruby was gone, the cards put away. Corporal Clyne waited by the door, ready to escort Jack upstairs to his room. He shut the book and gathered his things, contemplating whether he was tired enough to sleep or if he would continue his studies in bed. He kept the debate to himself and said only, "Shall we?"
She laid her hand on his arm and let him lead her out of the parlor. Clyne fell in several respectful paces behind them. Jack heard voices down the hall, coming closer - Redden and Leiden. Though he tried to step subtly faster toward the stairs to avoid an awkward moment with the bard, he wasn't fast enough. He'd just made the bottom step when Leiden called, "Still awake, young man?"
Jack stopped, noticing how quickly Lena released his arm and stepped away from him. He knew Leiden didn't approve of their supposed relationship, but it bothered him that she would care about the man's opinion. She did it for him, he knew, but it bothered him nevertheless. "Go on without me," he told her quietly. "I'll see you in the morning."
She didn't argue, only softly said, "Good night," and fled up the stairs just slowly enough to still appear dignified at it.
Leiden stopped in front of the stairs, Redden hovering behind him making a sour face that clearly conveyed how worried he was that Jack would say something stupid. It seemed a long time since that night by the campfire when Redden had compared Jack to a clever Melmond folk hero. It hurt.
Leiden's smile was sharp and almost suspicious. He turned to Clyne and said, "It's late. What have we been up to this evening, corporal?"
"He was studying, m'lord. In the parlor while the girls practiced their cards."
Leiden arched an eyebrow at Jack. "What were you studying? Some Leifenish thing?"
"High Leifenish, actually," Jack told him.
"High Leifenish?" Leiden said, his smile seeming more genuine now, more like Harvey's. "How unusual! Let's see it." He reached for the book.
Behind him, Redden's eyes flashed, but his voice was calm. "Surely you're not interested in that old thing, Arthur."
Jack felt a stab of anger and reflexively locked it away. He knew the cause of Redden's worry now: the bard honestly believed Jack would have been dumb enough to bring Astos's spellbook here. Give me some credit, he thought. I didn't lose all my wits overnight. But he may as well have, considering how thoroughly Redden had lost all faith in him. He kept his eyes on Redden as he passed Leiden the book.
"On the contrary," Leiden said, speaking more to Jack than to Redden. "I've always been interested in Leifenish studies. Spent a lot of time with the works of Arcus Monoceros when I was your age. Do you know him?"
Jack nodded. "Of course. I know him well." He pointed to the book, speaking mostly for Redden's benefit. "This is far less interesting, I'm afraid. It's a book on high Leifenish grammar that Lord Unne lent me. I've taken an interest lately." Not a spellbook, Jack thought. When his eyes caught Redden's again, the bard nodded, somewhat mollified.
"Oh?" said Leiden. "Not much call for high Leifenish these days. Their culture precedes even the airship age, if I recall correctly? Even the oldest Leifenish texts dismiss it as a trifling obscurity."
Jack shrugged. "You never know what might be useful someday. As Monoceros said, 'Uloson nau geisdi uwagudisu cholanu.'"
Leiden chuckled deep in his chest. "'The past can be a window to the future'? Perhaps. Though if high Leifenish is our window, I suspect we haven't much of a view. You know, Redden," he said. "Kane may have your looks, but I think this one reminds me of you more." He handed the book back, thumping Jack's shoulder before he turned and continued down the hall past the stairs, motioning for Redden to follow him.
Redden frowned as he walked away.
Jack watched him go, but was startled by the low rumble of Clyne's voice. "What'd you do?"
"Pardon?" said Jack.
"Your father's not happy with you. What'd you do?"
Jack sighed. "He thinks I'm weak."
"Because you were sick? All men get sick."
"That's part of it." He headed up the stairs, but Clyne hurried to catch up, not following him now but walking beside him.
"And the rest of it?"
Jack stopped on the stairs and faced the guard. "Since when are you speaking to me?"
"Since your girl's been kind to me. It's the least I can do for her. If she sees something in you, how bad can you be?" It was a lot of words all at once from the big man, but Jack was learning that Lena had that effect on people. "So why's Lord Carmine mad at you?"
Jack turned and resumed his trek up the stairs. "We had an argument, alright? He said… He thinks if it came down to a fight, I wouldn't be able to protect Kane. But he's wrong."
Clyne didn't respond to that. When they reached the landing where another guard already stood watch, Clyne stopped and Jack went on alone.
In his room, he found Kane sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, maintaining his gear. He had a cloth in front of him holding a row of tools: a whetstone, some rags, a precariously balanced bottle of oil. He held his leather scabbard across his knees as he oiled it; his sword lay across the foot of the bed like an obedient hound.
"What are you doing here?" Jack said. "I thought you were sleeping down the hall?"
"Only because it was cold in here. If you're well now, I'd rather have this excellent bed," said Kane, without looking up from his task. "That is, if you're well. You are well now, aren't you?"
"I don't know," Jack said. He walked to the window, which Kane had opened to the night air, and crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall beside it. "I'm not sure I'm well enough to sleep in the floor, now that you mention it."
Kane smirked. "I suppose in that case you can sleep down the hall."
"I may."
The guardsman chuckled. He set the scabbard on the cloth, stoppered the bottle of oil. "I am glad to see you're feeling better. I hope… I hope it wasn't too unpleasant, whatever you had to do."
Jack turned, looking out the window. "It had to be done."
"I know you held out as long as you could. If you need to talk…" Kane trailed off.
He could tell him, Jack thought. Kane was his friend, the best he'd ever had. They'd fought together, saved each other's lives. Surely Kane would understand? "Kane," he began, "The truth is…"
He turned back to face his friend, but Kane wasn't looking at him. Kane was staring down at his sword. He had the hilt in one hand, blade pointed carelessly away from him, as he stared transfixed at the aetherite jewel in the pommel, the orb that declared him a Warrior of Light. It gave off a ghostly shine. Kane looked questioningly at Jack, and the reflection from the orb made his brown eyes flicker gold. "Is it just me or is this thing glowing?"
The man pictured in the Ars Paladia reminded Lena of an older version of Felder: dark hair, dark skin, that same broad nose. Unlike the young pirate though, the man in the illustration wore full plate armor, painted sapphire blue. His sword was taller than he was, and against all possibility he held it raised in one hand as though it weighed nothing. In his other hand, he carried a shield that bore the dragon emblem of the knights of Bahamut. "A-le-gu-za-nu-da," she whispered, running her finger along the Leifenish caption as she sounded it out. "Oh, Alexander! Yes, of course." Many of the legends said Alexander, the leader of Bahamut's knights, had been a man of the Stone Coast where Felder was from. She turned the page, ready to begin translating the story that followed, if she could keep her mind on her task.
She sat at a table in Lord Unne's library, surrounded by notes and Leifenish dictionaries. They had been there since before breakfast, she and the boys and Lord Orin. The old monk sat behind her in Lord Unne's stuffed armchair, reading a two-gil novel adaptation of Bertrand and Odelia that Lena suspected was far more risque than the play she had seen. He and Thad had been out late the night before, late enough that Thad had missed his lesson with Jack. When Jack had asked Thad if he could study Syldra's Tear for the day, Orin had decided it would be educational for Thad to come along.
To Lena's left, Seward sat with Kane at the table that held his machinist tools, a little machina ship opened up in front of them like a dissected frog as Seward pointed out its workings. A basin of water sat in the floor nearby, ready for a demonstration. She could feel them both so strongly, Kane's fascination with the subject and Seward's delight at sharing it.
"So it's a matter of weight?" Kane was saying, motioning toward one of the cogs.
Seward nodded. "And counterweights, yes. For this device anyway. Now, if you change out these gears…"
She smiled, though she didn't understand what they were talking about. At least they were talking. She looked to her right, where Jack and Thad worked at another table. Those two said hardly a word, both of them looking through the aether at things she couldn't see. She could see the glow well enough, the yellow light that shone from the orb affixed to Kane's sword. Anyone could have seen it. They'd painted over it with shoe polish for the walk through town, but Jack had wiped it off. The sword rested on the table, blade bare, and Jack stood over it, studying it with focused intensity, his eyes glittering blue-green with aether. His face was still uncovered from their morning meal with Seward, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. He held Syldra's Tear in one hand; occasionally, a gust of wind moved through the room, ruffling papers.
"Watch it!" Thad said, gathering a few of them up when it happened again. There were no books on that table - there was nothing in Seward's library for this, the awakening of a long dead piece of aetherite - but there were dozens of loose pages covered in Thad's looped drawings.
"Sorry," Jack said absently. "Note that down."
Lena wasn't surprised that the boy had learned to draw an aether diagram. His experience with the aether was, so far, entirely academic; she had seen the hours he put into studying the Adept's Grimoire when they were on the ship. She didn't know how accurate his diagrams were, but for the most part it had kept Thad from asking endless questions while Jack concentrated on doing… whatever he was doing. Thad grumbled, straightening his stacked papers before reaching for a pen.
"Language, young master Shipman," Orin said. "If you cannot respect your teachers, you will never learn."
Thad pursed his lips but the grumbling stopped. He weighed down his papers with an elbow and began sketching. "Can you do it again? I didn't catch all of it."
Jack grunted. Lena felt the little breeze stirring the hair at the back of her neck, picking up speed as it went. She neither felt nor saw the aether.
"Right," said Thad, pen scratching paper. "So you draw the aether through the orb?"
"Correct," Jack said.
"And then you cast it through the orb again?"
"Yes." He sounded distant, lost in his own head. She could feel him again, the buzz of his concentration tinged with a frustrated confusion. He leaned both hands on the table, staring intently at the sword, and for a moment the corona in his eyes changed, a deep amber, but nothing happened. He spat a word under his breath.
Orin tutted. "Need I remind you to watch your language as well, master Jack?"
"Sorry," Jack said, but the buzz of his concentration didn't waver. He reached across the table to the place where the red orb that had once belonged to his mother waited beside Lena's own lucky charm in its woven and braided net. His hand hovered over them for a moment in seeming indecision before he picked up the blue one.
She watched as Jack's eyes turned a brighter blue, as if the corona had magnified his normal shade ten times over, but, again, nothing happened. He growled as he set the blue orb down.
"But it's the same spell, isn't it?" said Thad. "Why does it only work on mine?"
Jack frowned, muttering something that was probably inappropriate again, albeit a different word this time. His brow creased in frustration as he picked up Kane's sword, holding it out in front of him with both hands as if he meant to do battle, the corona once more taking on the hue of the jewel in the hilt.
She watched him a moment longer, with his eyes that interesting shade of gold, before she went back to her own work translating the story, a tale of Alexander crossing a river of poison to face a monster on the other side. She knew many of the legends of the knights of Bahamut, but this one was new to her. She couldn't tell if the monster was causing the poison river or simply lived near one. Leifenish was such a flowery language, with so many similes and metaphors she had trouble determining if Saronian, the legendary jumping knight, really could jump to the sky or if that was simply a figure of speech. She knew the knights of Bahamut were supposed to be capable of superhuman feats, but the tale of Ffamran - whose illustration had reminded her of an older Thad - had been far more believable.
She stopped when she came to a word she didn't know and couldn't find in the Leifenish dictionaries. She turned to Lord Unne for help.
"And if you'll tighten that bolt…" Seward was saying. "Excellent! Shall we see what it can do?"
Kane knelt by the water basin, cradling the little ship in his hands, a look of pure, child-like glee on his face. Rather than interrupt, Lena went over and knelt across the basin from him. She watched as he placed the device in the water and it sank the few inches to the bottom. "Oh, no!" she said, giggling. "Not much of a ship, is it?"
"Patience, my dear," Seward said, bending down and reaching into the water to turn a key on the device. "It isn't meant to be a ship!"
The machina shuddered, a few tiny bubbles escaping from within, and then it moved, puttering along the bottom of the basin under its own power.
"Wow!" said Thad, startling Lena as he looked over her shoulder for she hadn't sensed his approach. He went around the basin to kneel between her and Kane. "That's amazing! Can I play with it?"
Lord Unne chuckled. "That one isn't a toy, young man. Though I do have others you're welcome to examine… No, this one is the result of years of work! My brother found the design among the ruins of the Aquapolis when he was a young man. I've been fiddling with it ever since."
"What's an equipalis?" Thad said.
"Aquapolis," Seward corrected. "It was a city once, as grand as Old Melmond is said to have been. It sank into the sea centuries ago. A fraction of it remains on land, what would have been considered the lower town, all in ruins. Only a fishing village there now."
"He means Onlac," Jack said, coming toward them with Kane's sword. To Seward, he said, "I keep meaning to tell you that's where Lena's from."
"Truly?" said Seward, eyes bright with interest. "So you've seen the ruins firsthand?"
"Oh, um, of course!" she stuttered, flustered by his eagerness. "That is, I don't know anything about an Aquapolis, but, yes, Onlac's waters are full of old ruins. I used to go diving there. That's where I found my… the orb. My lucky charm." Lena shivered, rubbing her wrist. It felt naked without the bracelet; she couldn't recall a time she had ever taken it off.
Seward made a pleased sound. "I must have you review my brother's notes and give me your take on them!"
Jack handed Kane's weapon back to him. "Did you learn anything?" Kane asked as he slid it into the scabbard.
"Nothing," said Jack. "I don't know why it's glowing, and I don't know what it means."
Kane sighed, looking down at the gem that glowed above his hip like a little star. "We'll need to find something better than shoe polish."
"I may have some paint," Seward said.
"Let's try it, but quickly. I need to go."
He started to follow Seward across to another worktable, but Jack stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Couldn't you leave it with me? If I had more time-"
Kane shook his head. "What would I tell people when they notice it's gone? It's not as if you and I can trade, and a man would have to be a fool to go about unarmed when people are going missing all over the city."
Lena almost asked why they couldn't trade - it seemed a simple solution - but then the rest of what Kane had said sank in. "People are missing?" She knew about the woman at Titan's Cathedral whose son had disappeared, but she hadn't heard of any others.
Kane nodded. "One or two a day, according to the rumors. Gabriel's not talking about it, but I hear things."
"You hear correctly," Orin said, still sitting in the armchair. "Be careful as you go about the town, young master Carmine. Do not travel alone."
"Bentley's going with me," Kane said, referring to one of the guards who had accompanied them to Lord Unne's that morning. They waited in the front parlor with Liza, trying to beat her at Over Onion Knight. "But if we don't head out soon, Gabriel will send a search party."
"How did you convince Sergeant Cranky to let you leave the house without him today?" Thad asked.
"Ah, well, that's… It's funny you should ask," Kane said, striding quickly over to where Seward waited with the paint. As he stepped past, Lena felt his discomfort like a pebble in her shoe. "He said he had some errands to run in town, and I sort of told him if we were to skip training today, I would train twice as hard tomorrow." He faced Jack, smiling sheepishly. "And that I'd bring you."
Jack's eyes widened, still glittering with aether. "You- Wait… Why would you-"
"I'm sorry," Kane said quickly. "It's just that my father and his brother were supposed to be a legendary team. Everyone's dying to see how we measure up."
"But Jack can barely use a sword!" said Thad.
"I know!" Kane said, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I've told them as much. He's supposed to be a scholar, isn't he? But they won't rest until they've seen for themselves!"
Jack closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You perfect idiot," he said.
"Look, it's one practice fight, just so everyone can see how lousy we are together. I'll make it up to you. I swear." Kane watched as Seward rubbed a bit of rust colored paint over the shining yellow orb. It was enough to dull the glow.
"Hey, can I train with you guys tomorrow?" Thad asked, still kneeling in the floor beside Lena and the water basin.
"You're too little," Kane said.
"I am not!" Thad whined. "I'm big enough to be a Warrior of Light!"
"You're just a kid, Shipman. These aren't pirates and thieves we're talking about. These are professional soldiers. You aren't old enough to train with them."
The boy pouted, turning back to the little machina ship. "At least I don't have gray hairs like you do!" he muttered just loud enough to be heard.
He'd struck a nerve with that one. Lena felt it hit Kane like a bucket of ice water to his face. "What did you say?" he snapped. "I don't have- I do not!" His hand went to his hair.
"Hmm, no, the boy's right," Seward said, looking at Kane as he stood up straight. He pointed. "Definitely some white coming in just there."
Kane blanched.
Seward laughed. "Oh, do calm down! Nothing wrong with gray hairs! Some women find them distinguished. Isn't that true, my dear?"
Lena struggled not to laugh as Kane looked at her with wide, desperate eyes. It wasn't funny, she told herself. She could feel his distress. "Yes, of course! Just look at your father, for example. Around Cornelia, Lord Redden is considered very handsome."
If anything, Kane's horror only increased. "I have to go," he said, stepping toward the door.
"Wait!" Seward called. "I'll see you out!"
Thad chuckled as the door closed behind them; he reached down to wind up the little ship again. "That was great," he said.
Lena sighed. "Oh dear. I should have known better than to bring his father into it."
"He deserved worse," Jack said. "What was he thinking, committing me to a sword fight? Did he learn nothing the first time?" He reached down to help her up. "Do you mind if we stay longer? I'd like to keep looking at the other orbs."
"I don't mind," she said. "I have plenty of work to keep me occupied, learning to read Leifenish. Actually, I was going to ask Seward, but would you help me with this word?" She pulled him by the hand toward the table where she'd left her book.
He read the word she pointed out to him and then his eyes widened again. "'Malboro'?"
"Yes, I couldn't find it in the dictionaries. You know it?"
The mage picked up the Ars Paladia, a stunned look on his face as if he'd been struck by lightning. His eyes, still glowing as the corona faded, flicked across the pages, skimming their contents. Lena couldn't feel his emotions, but after he rapidly flipped ahead in the book, his face lit with an endearingly lopsided smile. "I know this one. My father told me this story… I… I had forgotten…" He set the book on the table once more, open to a different illustration, one of Alexander fighting a hideous green monster, all teeth and tentacles and hundreds of eyes. "That is a malboro."
"The creature? Oh! That makes sense! I assumed from context that it was some sort of poison." She caught herself staring at his smile, but he didn't notice, focused on the book as he was, and she looked away. "I've never heard of a malboro before. In fact, I thought I knew all the tales of the knights of Bahamut, but this book is the first place I've seen this story."
Jack flipped back a few pages and then forward again. "I've never found it anywhere else, not in any of the books I've studied. I looked once, some years ago, when I realized I couldn't remember what my father looked like. I just wanted something to remind me of him." His hand trailed lightly over the monster in the picture. "I wondered if he had made it up - or if I'd dreamed the whole thing."
She wanted to ask him about it - how he had lost his parents, how old he had been. She'd known he was young when it happened, but if he'd been young enough to forget his father… Still, she knew if she asked him, that smile on his face would vanish before she ever finished the question.
He was still smiling when he went back to studying the orbs a few minutes later. He seemed less flustered than he had before, happily answering Thad's questions with full, lecturing sentences rather than monosyllabic replies. Seward came back and sat with Orin, discussing literature.
She worked her way through her own book, consulting the dictionaries often, scrawling her amateur translation over several messy pages before she came at last to an aether diagram and the description of the spell Alexander had used to cross the poisonous landscape that surrounded the malboro's lair.
"Ga-nuh-hi-seh," she said, sounding out the spell's name. She found it in the first dictionary she checked. She carefully copied the diagram onto a fresh page and above it, in bold letters, she wrote, "Float."
Redden sat at the long gleaming table in Arthur's office. He still thought of it as Westen's office, though the man had been dead nearly twenty years. "I'm not asking for every little detail of your affairs, Arthur," he said as he sat back in one of the posh leather chairs and crossed his arms. "I'm only saying I can't be much help to you if I don't have all the facts."
Arthur and his secretary, Lord Pollendina, exchanged skeptical glances. They sat across from him, Arthur in his white shirt and Pollendina in his black one, looking like a pair of mismatched bookends. Arthur shook his blond head. "It wasn't anything you needed to know until now."
"Bollocks," Redden snapped. "What good does it do me to know about them now, after they've been stolen? If you'd told me before, I could have warded them, Vanished them, smuggled them away on my ship! Now you've twelve cases of healing potion gone from under your noses and bugger all I can do about it. Why did you even have such a thing?"
Arthur wouldn't look at him, only stared down at the pile of reports beneath his steepled hands on the table in front of him. "Again, that's nothing you need to know."
Redden pushed back from the table and paced to the window, as though his temper were getting the better of him, but it was only an act. He had known about the potions of course, but he couldn't let them know that, not without confessing that he had stolen Arthur's warded file from this very room, or that the Shipman boy had seen the potions through his aether sight. He still didn't know what the potions were for. He angled himself toward the window, but his eyes were fixed on the gold-framed mirror on the wall opposite. "How do you know it was the Brotherhood?" he asked.
He could see them in the mirror, could see Arthur looking to Pollendina before answering, could see the secretary shaking his head. "We have our reasons," Arthur said.
"I'll bet you have," Redden muttered. Though the secretary had said nothing during this little interview, Redden doubted he was anything like as subservient as he seemed. If what Orin said was true, Pollendina was some manner of mage. He likely had warded the potions, meaning whoever stole them was a mage as well. A mage who would now be harder to kill. He turned to face the Melmond lords again. "If you're right, then you'll have to face the facts: they're not restricting themselves to the lower town anymore. This makes three incidents on Farplane Avenue. You'll need to start moving part of your investigation team uptown."
Pollendina scoffed, speaking for the first time. "I hardly think that's necessary."
"I didn't ask you," said Redden. "You wanted my help with this, Arthur. I'm helping. If you won't take my advice, why am I here?"
There was a sharp rap at the door. It sprang open as a guard rushed in, leaving it gaping behind him. The guard bowed low, but his face and his bearing betrayed a giddy excitement. "Begging your pardon, Lord Leiden, but-"
"This had better be important, constable!" Arthur said brusquely.
The guard hesitated, seeming only then to realize he had burst in on their meeting.
"What's seems to be the trouble, Hector?" Pollendina asked calmly.
"No trouble, my lord. It's just…" The guard glanced quickly toward Redden and away again. "It's the Carmine boys. Some kind of demonstration."
"For Titan's sake!" Redden said. He looked out the window, which faced the training yard. A crowd gathered at the fence, not just guards but servants and civilians as well. He could see Kane heading toward the equipment shed with the taller figure of Jack beside him.
Pollendina sighed, annoyed. "That hardly seems like a worthy reason to come barrelling in-"
"Thank you, constable," Arthur said, interrupting the secretary. "We'll be right out." He stood, gathering the stack of reports and hitting it against the table to straighten it. He tucked the papers into a file, placed the file under his arm, and stepped around the table toward the door.
"My lord, the potions-" Pollendina said.
"Are long gone already," said Arthur. "A few minute's diversion will hardly impact the investigation, not when your own inspectors are already on the case." He looked at Redden, smiling sharply. "Come, old friend. I must admit I've been curious about what your boys can do."
Lena knew Jack was nervous. He didn't pace or fret like other men might have done, but his movements as he put on the padded leather armor were jittery and clumsy. She sat on a bench in the equipment shed as Jack and Kane got ready for what she had believed, until she'd seen the mass of people outside, to be a simple training match.
"It still is a simple training match," Kane said, putting on his own armor, adjusting the straps at his wrists and waist. "Just because everyone else is making a big deal of it-"
"How did I let you talk me into this?" Jack snapped, the interruption betraying his nerves more than his level tone of voice had done.
"It's no different from training on the ship."
"We didn't have an audience on the ship!" Jack said, low and seething. He fretted with the straps, his fingers fumbling over the buckles.
Lena stood, knocking over the boys' swords which they'd left on the bench beside her, and she went to him, pushing his hands out of the way so she could tighten the straps herself. His gloves were cool to the touch. He startled when she reached up to press the back of her hand against his forehead. "You're all clammy," she said. "Are you getting sick again? Are you sure you're well enough for this?"
"I'm not sick!" he said, tilting his face back, away from her hand. She busied herself with the buckles again.
The door sprang open as Thadius burst in from searching for Lord Orin. Jack turned to the boy, eyes hopeful. "Did you find him?"
Thad shook his head. "He's not here. I think he must have gone to town. I checked everywhere."
Jack moaned, flopping onto the bench so that Lena had to chase after him to finish the last buckle.
"Look, it's not as if he could have done anything to help you win the match," Kane said. He stood near a rack of blunted steel practice swords, picking up one dull blade after another, testing the weight of each. He pulled one out and swung it in a slow, experimental arc. "We've what? Ten minutes to prepare? I doubt he has any secret monk techniques he could have passed on to you in that time. You're worrying about this more than you should." His voice and manner were calm, soothing, somewhat apologetic, but Lena could feel frustration dripping off of him like a summer rain.
The rain escalated to a downpour when Jack said, "I've already wrecked your father's reputation enough just by being here! How do you think he's going to feel when my shoddy swordwork becomes the talk of the town?"
Kane whirled on him, pointing with the practice sword. "He doesn't keep you around for your swordwork! If he doesn't remember that, that's not on you! You didn't save Pravoka with swordwork, alright? You didn't find Eldarin's crown with swordwork! I've seen what you can do! Father's seen what you can do! So unless you have some kind of potion that makes you a better swordsman or you think you can scry your way out of this, we're going to go out there and get our asses handed to us and that will be the end of it!" He turned and paced away.
Jack sat quietly, shoulders hunched. Lena felt a cloud of misery from him, like a puff of acrid smoke. From behind her, she heard Thadius say, "Couldn't you?"
"Couldn't we what?" Kane snarled.
"Scry your way out of this?" Thad said.
Kane scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Shipman. I was only making a point." He hadn't seen Jack sit up a little straighter, face stunned as if someone had struck him between the eyes. When he did look back, his brows drew together. "Right, Jack?"
"Actually…" Jack said.
"No," Kane said, pointing an accusing finger. "Absolutely not!"
Outside, the air was moist without being muggy - that would come later, when the sun rose higher. A few guards dressed in padded leather armor practiced sword drills on one end of the yard, but most of the onlookers were gathered by the fence on the east side, keeping the morning sun behind them. The crowd murmured cheerfully.
"Is that him? The son of Titan?" a young woman asked when Redden passed her.
"I thought the tall one was only a scholar?" a man's voice said, and another answered, "Surely he's just being modest. He carries his father's sword."
From more than one voice, Redden heard, "Do you think they're as good as their father?" and he cursed. The onlookers were in for a disappointing show, all of them. He and Cid had done great things together, with the rumors - all exaggerations - saying they could defeat fifty men between them, but they had also fought together for years to achieve the unity they were famous for. Kane and Jack had known each other a matter of weeks.
They followed the excited guard who had burst into Arthur's office, threading their way through to the front of the crowd. The guard went straight to the hulking Corporal Clyne and said a few words then disappeared among his fellows. Sergeant Quincey was there as well, along with Captain Merrill, the man in charge of the guards assigned to the house. The captain greeted them with a dutiful, "Good morning, my lords."
"Captain," said Arthur, smiling amiably. "Quite the event you have here. What brought this on?"
"Only a practice match, my lord. The men have blown it out of proportion, that's all."
Arthur laughed. "Do you mean to tell me the Carmine brothers won't be facing twenty men at once?"
Merrill only smirked. "We'll see how they fare against two, to start with."
It was clear which two he meant. Quincey and Clyne stood together, heads close, hashing out some manner of strategy. Quincey spoke quickly. Clyne nodded as he adjusted the straps of his leathers.
The volume of the murmuring crowd increased. Redden looked toward the equipment shed, where Kane and Jack had just emerged, striding toward the center of the training area. As the other practicing guards cleared the field, Thad and Lena walked from the shed around the perimeter of the yard, following the fence. Thad carried Kane's sword while Lena carried Redden's, as if the boys had set them aside for the match. Redden knew Jack had another reason for keeping the magic blade near. He saw Jack shudder, as if he had a chill despite the thick padding and the building heat of another Melmond morning.
Thad and Lena stopped when they came to the place where Redden stood just as Sergeant Quincey and Corporal Clyne headed into the yard. Lena called, "Please go easy on him, Corporal!"
Clyne looked back and said, "Afraid I can't do that, miss." He looked at Redden, nodded in a sort of greeting, then stomped off toward Kane and Jack.
The crowd hooted and cheered when one of the older guards, the designated officiator, stepped onto the field and raised a hand high over his head. "Fighters ready?" he called.
The four of them squared off. Redden's eyes flicked to his sword in Lena's arms as he calculated the distance between it and the mage, wondering how close to it Jack had to be to make use of its focus spells.
The officiator looked toward Captain Merrill. Merrill nodded. The hand dropped.
Thad gripped Kane's sword in both hands, cheering along with everyone else, itching for a good fight. He wanted his friends to win, of course, but given the circumstances he'd decided he'd be happy with them at least not losing right away. He'd seen Kane win a number of fights, but Thad had also seen Jack lose four sparring matches in five. Against Thad himself.
That Sergeant Cranky was no slouch either. He and Clyne rushed forward, their strategy immediately apparent as both of them focused on a single target: Kane. Completely ignored, Jack stood stupidly with his sword out in front of him, long enough that people began to laugh, but as the larger man moved around to come at Kane from behind, Jack moved in, blocking Clyne's overhead strike. Their swords met with a hollow clang that made Thad and several of the other spectators flinch. Thad felt the force of the blow vibrating through the sword he held.
Kane was immediately locked into combat with Quincey, who it seemed was not only his match in size but in skill as well. The dull metal blades rang as they struck, a musical rhythm as each man moved with the grace and speed of a dancer. Kane didn't even react as Jack bumped against him, the two fighting back to back now.
Behind Kane, a far less graceful match took place. Jack and Clyne were of similar height, but the corporal was nearly twice Jack's size. Each slow swing of the big man's blade rattled Jack's slender frame as he blocked it. If even one of those blows got through, Thad didn't think the padded armor would be enough, but the mage blocked every attack.
It's working! Thad thought. He watched the battle through his aether sight, but he couldn't see what he knew Jack was seeing: reading the aether in such a way that he could see far enough into the future, only fractions of a second, to make a difference in the fight. The big man's aura would move before he did, enough that Jack could predict his strikes. The aether swirled around the fighters as their blades moved through it. It swirled around the crowd that surrounded the yard, around Thad.
The crowd gasped, pulling Thad's attention back to the fight. The corporal swung high, roaring as he brought the blade down. Jack brought his own sword up at an angle to intercept it, knocking the strike sideways into the dirt, leaving the big man off balance. Clyne's side was completely exposed. Get him, Jack! Thad thought, but Clyne pulled back and the moment was lost.
Thad groaned, along with a fair portion of the crowd.
"They make a good team," Arthur said. "Kane is clearly better, but Jack's holding his own. In fact, I think he might be toying with the corporal..."
Redden laughed, hoping Arthur didn't pick up on his discomfort.
He had expected Jack to lose by now, but the boy was quick. Redden hadn't realized he was so quick - he blocked every attack, each of them - but blocking seemed all he was capable of: he never struck back, even when he had what looked to Redden to be a clear opening.
It happened again and again. Opening after opening passed him by, as if the boy hadn't seen them. What is he doing? Redden thought. How could he possibly have learned to defend himself - in only a matter of days - without learning to attack as well?
"What in Titan's name is he waiting for?" Arthur asked.
Kane blocked another strike, barely. Quincey hadn't made it past his guard yet, but it was a near thing. In all their sparring these past few days, he'd never seen the sergeant fight like this. "You've been holding back on me."
"So have you, lordling," Quincey said through a tight-jawed grin. "Tired already? Am I working you too hard?"
Kane pushed back with his sword, lashing out with his elbow for good measure. "I could do this all day."
"Good!" Quincey came at him again, feinting high before curving his sword in from the side. "So could I." Strike, block. "So could Clyne." Strike, block.
An opening! Kane swung his sword to the right, but just then Jack bumped into him again, hard this time, as if he'd been thrown. The strike went wide.
Quincey's grin sharpened. "How long can your brother keep up, do you think?"
Jack nearly lost his footing. If Kane hadn't been behind him, he would have. Gods, but Clyne hit hard. Jack's arms ached all the way to his shoulders, through them, into his back, his chest. This wasn't working! Reading the aether was no substitute for skill. It told Jack where the big man would go, where his own sword needed to be. It could not, of course, tell him when to strike back.
Worse yet, reading the aether was exhausting. Reading the future in the aether, even the imminent future, was exhausting on a scale Jack hadn't been prepared for. But reading the aether without drawing on it? He couldn't last much longer.
As hard as Clyne's sword hit his own, the aether slammed into his soul's defenses, pushing and pushing. It was like fighting two opponents at once, the huge guard in front of him and the hollow within.
The hollow won first. His guard broke like thin ice on a warm winter morning. The aether surged into him and through him. He felt the corona building behind his eyes and squeezed them shut before anyone could see it. His aether sight afforded him a perfect view of Clyne's next full-bodied swing as it slammed into his shoulder, throwing him sideways.
Even as he fell, he fought for calm, fought to steady his breathing, to force the aether away before it could manifest as ice and cold there in front of Lord Leiden and an army of Melmond soldiers. He heard the crowd cry out as he hit the ground hard, as the blunted steel practice sword slipped from his hands. He heard Lena call his name, and he sent his senses toward her, toward the sword she carried. The aether made a clear path to the weapon, and he followed it, desperately grasping for the focus spells.
Only after he'd wrapped his mind around it did he realize he'd gone for the wrong sword.
Lena hid her eyes when Jack went down. "Oh! I can't watch!" she said.
But Thad couldn't stop watching. Something was wrong. The aether had gone wild. He could see it. He could feel it. When Jack hit the ground, the aether quaked, the footsteps of a giant, and it didn't stop. The aether… hummed. It buzzed. It vibrated like a cicada on a branch. He watched through his aether sight, watched it pulse and move. It wasn't doing it everywhere. It was only doing it around him.
More specifically, around the weapon in his hands.
Jack fell, and Redden hissed in sympathy. Even with the padding on, the boy would be feeling that blow for days. He landed roughly, not even catching himself with his hands, and didn't move again.
Clyne went for Kane then, striking at his unprotected back, but Kane stepped swiftly to the side, dodging. Perhaps he'd sensed that Jack was no longer behind him, perhaps he'd heard it in the crowd's reaction. He stood in front of the fallen Jack now, facing both of the Melmond men at once. He slipped into the same ready stance Cid had always favored, sword up, feet firmly planted.
Both men moved against him. This was the end!
And then Redden felt the aether stir.
On the field, the earth shifted. Clyne seemed to trip, bumping into Quincey just as the sergeant began his attack. Quincey's sword came in too high, so that Kane's blade hit one of the man's hands as he blocked. Quincey cried out, dropping his weapon. Kane moved then, ramming his shoulder against Clyne, who had yet to recover his balance. The big man fell against the disarmed Quincey and both men went down.
Kane stood over them, sword aimed at Clyne's throat. It was over.
The crowd went silent, and why wouldn't they? That was magic. Redden knew it was magic. Surely everyone knew? It seemed so obvious to him. But then one man cheered, and another, and soon the whole lot were clapping and shouting.
Even Arthur clapped. "An excellent match!" the Lord of Melmond said, laughing. "Best I've seen in years. I'm so glad we came out for it."
Beside him, Pollendina clapped, but only half-heartedly, as though the whole affair bored him.
They hadn't noticed? No one had noticed? Pollendina was supposed to be a mage. Surely, if Redden had felt it, he must have as well? But the brooding secretary seemed entirely uninterested.
In the yard, Kane tossed his practice sword down, freeing his hands to drag Jack up by the back of his collar, like an errant cat. Jack stumbled along, eyes closed, as Kane hauled him toward the equipment shed. Lena excused herself and ran after them, cutting across the training yard with Thad close on her heels.
"Your scholar's good, Lord Carmine," Captain Merrill said, inclining his head respectfully. "I didn't expect that." The corporal walked toward them just then, and the captain clapped his shoulder as he added, "He could have had Clyne a dozen times there."
"But he didn't," Pollendina pointed out. "A bit sloppy, that. Almost like he didn't know how to attack." His words were uncomfortably similar to Redden's own thoughts.
Arthur scoffed. "Sloppy? No! Nobody that good can be that bad. Perhaps he was making a point. What are your thoughts, corporal?"
Clyne shrugged. "I think he was more concerned with protecting his brother than winning the match." He looked Redden in the eye.
"Yes!" Arthur said, laughing. "That's it! That's exactly right! Very like how Redden used to watch Cid's back. That's what it reminded me of! It's clear he needs more training, but he fought well. So determined!"
Pollendina rolled his eyes. "Yes, quite. But perhaps now we can return to more important business?"
Arthur nodded. "It's past time we did. My, but that took longer than I thought it would. Redden?"
"I'll be right in," he told them. "I'm just going to speak with the boys first."
He slipped through the fence, heading toward the equipment shed. Arthur called after him, telling him not to take long. The crowd began to disperse, moods high, except for the guards who still had to put in their own work training this morning. Men were going in and out of the shed, grabbing equipment.
What would he say? Redden wondered. He couldn't discipline them, not with so many witnesses. How would it look if he dragged them away by their ears when it seemed to everyone else like they'd had a resounding victory? Just wait until I get them alone! he thought.
When he reached the shed, bumping into a few guards coming out, they seemed confused. Looking inside, he saw the reason. Jack sat on one of the benches, shoulders hunched, eyes closed - concealing a corona, Redden knew - as Kane stood over him. Kane gestured wildly with his hands as spoke, the way he did when he argued. Lena stood between them, hands up, trying to make peace, while Thad stood nervously off to the side.
He didn't know either, Redden thought. Jack had acted on his own. And clearly Kane didn't approve. As well he shouldn't. It was an unnecessary risk.
He turned and went back to the house. He would speak with Jack later. Now wasn't the time.
"And then Kane knocked into the big guy, like this," Thad said, demonstrating with his shoulder. They walked through the lower town, and they were almost the only people on this street. "And he fell on Sergeant Cranky, and Kane had his sword out, like this." He struck what he imagined was a heroic-looking pose. It had looked heroic when Kane did it. "It was amazing, Orin! I wish you could have seen it!"
"I wish I had as well," Orin said. "Had I been there, I could have advised master Jack against such frivolous uses of magic."
Thad nodded. He'd heard much the same from Kane. "Kane said they were supposed to have their asses handed to them," he remarked.
"Language," Orin said. "But, yes, I can see how that would have been a preferable alternative."
Thad had been with Lena, eating a late picnic-style breakfast on the manor's wide, covered porch when the old monk had turned up. Thad was glad to see him, for he'd thought he'd have to spend another unproductive day attempting magic in the hedge maze. That was Lena's plan, and there was no one else for Thad to spend time with. Kane had gone off somewhere with Harvey after the young Leiden woke up. Jack had gone back to bed after the match, exhausted from reading the aether and nearly too sore to move. Lena wanted to heal him, but Jack said people would notice if he recovered too quickly. Thad suspected the real reason was that Jack felt he deserved some sort of punishment. Thad hadn't understood Kane and Jack's argument after the fight, but he had at least picked up on the fact that Jack had not done magic on purpose. It had been an accident, and the black mage was terribly sorry about it.
Thad splashed in a mud puddle - it hadn't rained, but the streets were always muddy here - and he watched the aether billow and twist at the movement. He'd left the aether sight up after the fight. Jack said it was exhausting, but Thad felt fine. Perhaps it was only reading the aether that was tiring, or reading the future. He still didn't know how to read it, could do nothing more than watch the riot of misty light float up and settle over everything, like disturbed silt at the bottom of a pond.
Though the street was mostly empty now, it was full of aether - full of life, Thad knew - which told him that it was sometimes busy, perhaps would be busy later. There were places in cities that were only busy at night. His father had frequented places like that. He didn't want to think of his father. "Where are we going?" he asked.
Orin shuffled along beside him, leaning on a cane. He was limping less today. "Another person went missing last night. We are investigating."
"We are?" Thad said. "Why? Do you think it's the dark mages?"
Orin shook his head. "Inspector Lamontagne asked me to. As a favor. The inspectors are occupied this morning with other matters. But it is a suspicious case, perhaps magical in nature: a young man, drunk with his friends. He went into an alley to relieve himself. He did not come out again."
They stopped at a building with darkened windows - Thad couldn't tell if it was a house or a shop - and Orin knocked on the door. A tired-looking woman answered, and after a few words from Orin, she nodded and pointed them toward a narrow gap between two buildings across the street. It was full of trash, and mostly dark, shaded by the dilapidated buildings on either side. It stank.
"This is the place," Orin said, striding in.
Thad wrinkled his nose and followed, but not too far in, hovering close to the alley mouth where it was brighter. There were no doors in the narrow alley, no windows. The walls were too high for most people to climb. A gate of iron bars closed off the other side, locked in three places with a heavy chain, a dead end. If someone entered this alley, there was no other way they could have gone than back the way they came.
Orin tottered along, poking bits of rubbish with his cane. The aether curled after him, and as Thad watched it, he realized there was a lot of it around, more than there should have been in a dead-end alley. The aether accumulated in places frequented by people, high traffic areas like markets and taverns, not in out of the way corners where drunks went to pee.
Braver now, he stepped deeper into the alley, kicking a broken bottle that skittered ahead of him, spattering shiny drops behind like liquid moonbeams. The moon drops faded into the ground, leaving wet circles behind. "Orin!" Thad said, bending to pick up the bottle. "This… I think this had healing potion in it!"
"Suspicious," Orin said. "The potions stored at the Chocobo were stolen recently."
"What? When?"
"Recently," Orin repeated. "Do you see any more?"
He looked deeper into the shadows, past the shadows, through his aether sight, reminding himself that he no longer had to be afraid of the dark. The aether glowed in his vision, a layer of light over everything, brighter where Orin stood, where he himself stood…
And against the wall to his left.
"There's someone there!" he cried, just as the bright aether spot surged forward, knocking into him as it barrelled away. Orin caught him, held him up, but then his feet were sturdy under him and Thad was running.
Orin called after him, "No! Come back!"
He didn't stop. The aether blur crossed the street, zipping into another alley. Thad scrambled after it. He heard Orin call, "Thadius!" but the old man's voice was already distant.
The Vanished figure ran, crossing streets, circling buildings, but Thad kept it in sight. He was almost upon it, could almost reach out and grab it, when he stumbled. He felt it then, all at once: the fatigue Jack had warned him about, a bone weary tiredness. His lungs ached, out of breath. I shouldn't be out of breath! he thought, indignant. I've barely started!
The figure went left, toward a cross street, then zagged right at the last moment. Thad skidded to a stop, losing sight of it for an instant. Don't lose it! he thought, finding it again, concentrating so hard on getting his legs turned the right way, on making them move. Don't lose it!
The figure turned another corner before he'd caught up with it.
No! I'm faster than this, dammit! Move! Focused, driving his body forward, he felt something else, a shift. Something relaxed, some part of him moved forward, ahead of his uncooperative feet, and the white-hot light of the aether flared into brilliant color.
He could see it: the fleeing figure far beyond what he could have seen with his eyes, half a block ahead of him around another corner, and the aura trail leading out from behind it, a clear path for him to follow.
I'm doing it! I'm reading the aether! he thought, and that happy thought gave his legs a boost. I'm doing it!
He hurried on. The aura - the orange of a painted sunset, of a low campfire - led him right to the figure, running down another alley, slower now and panting. He caught up to it and tackled it to the ground. A glass shattered, and a bloom of aether opened up all over the figure as a potion spilled everywhere.
The figure was small, not a grown up. When it spoke to Thad, it spoke with the voice of a child, one he recognized. "Alright, already! No more! You win! I'm sorry! Get up before we cut ourselves!"
Thad cocked his head sitting up carefully amidst the glass. "Noah?"
"Yes, it's me! For Titan's sake! You didn't know that when you started chasing me? How dumb are you? I could have been a thief or a murderer for all you know!"
Thad sat back on his heels, confused. "You still might be..." he said, doubtfully. "We found you at the scene of a crime…"
"I didn't commit any crimes!" Noah squeaked.
"You're covered in stolen healing potion right now!" Thad pressed. If he concentrated, he could almost make out Noah's face in the aura, a watery orange blur as though he were looking at the other boy through a bottle of rum.
"Stolen?" Noah gasped. "Stolen? I brewed that potion myself, thank you very much! And you wasted it! If anyone's guilty of a crime here, it's you!"
"You brewed…" Thad said, trailing off as realization dawned. Noah's familiarity with the cathedral and the herb garden, brewing healing potions, the fact that he was Vanished. "You're a white mage? But I thought all the white mages had died! You said so yourself!"
"They did," the other boy said. "All except one lousy apprentice!"
"But you're nothing like a white mage!" Thad said.
"That's because I'm no good at it!" The aether shifted, and suddenly Noah was there in front of him, no longer invisible. He looked sad. "I can't even hold a decent Vanish!"
"You looked pretty Vanished to me…"
Noah frowned. "They sent me home, alright? The mages sent me home! They said I wasn't cut out for the life of a white mage! They wouldn't even let me swear the Oath! So I… I just… I went home! And I thought about going back, asking them to give me another chance, but…"
"But then they were all dead?" Thad said.
Noah nodded.
Thad pushed to his feet. He heard Orin call his name, a frantic, worried call. He raised his voice and answered, "Over here!"
The old man came running, a crooked gait. He'd lost his cane somewhere. "Thadius!" he said again, and the relief on his face made Thad feel terrible for running off without him. Until the monk grabbed him by his ear. "How could you make an old man worry so?"
"No, wait!" Thad squealed. "Listen! Orin! He's a-"
Orin sighed. Though his grip remained firm, his voice was calm. "I do not care if he is your long lost brother, young master Shipman! You do not go tearing off on your own!"
"Excuse me?" Noah said.
"I will be with you momentarily, young man," Orin said.
"But you were looking for that man who went missing last night, weren't you?"
Orin let go and Thad stepped away, out of range in case the old man hadn't meant to. "We were," the monk said, flashing his walnut smile. "Do you know where he went?"
"Not really," Noah said. "But I think it has something to do with the night plague."
Author's Note: 9/1/17 - In the original Final Fantasy game, Leifenish doesn't come up until much later. Your heroes get a Rosetta Stone item which suddenly allows them to understand the language. Oh, how I wish languages worked that way.
When I was younger, I studied foreign languages for fun. It started when, as a child, I read The Hobbit for the first time. Back then, I was fond of cryptoquote puzzles, where each letter is a substitute for another letter, and I discovered (through thorough investigation) that the map at the front of Tolkien's book really said what Elrond told the dwarves it said. I spent years delving into the elvish languages in Lord of the Rings, moving into real languages from there.
As a teenager, I discovered that Final Fantasy 2 and 3 were actually 4 and 6, that there were Final Fantasy titles in Japan that we didn't have in North America. I spent perhaps two years with a tattered Japanese dictionary and bootleg copies of 2 and 3, slowly playing my way through them, grinding out levels when I just couldn't stand to look up words anymore. Every stat on every character was maxed by the time I finished. (The PlayStation port of 5 was released in North America in English around the time I finished high school, so such measures were unnecessary for that title.)
In college, I took several linguistics and language classes. I always thought I'd be doing something language-related for a living – translating or interpreting somewhere. That didn't happen. There weren't even enough linguistics/language classes at my small university for me to major in it. But sometimes, I still watch movies with the foreign audio on and the English subtitles off, or I get a cheap dictionary and read a foreign book. Or I write a story with lots of references to language studies in it.